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I’ve already sent a variation of this to the main but I’m going to post it here, too because it feels right I don’t know: This is me quietly, regretfully, sadly turning in my resignation for Neil and Winter. Seaside has been so important to me and I will headily miss it and all of you but I think it's best if I just bow out. All my love. Feel free to ask for contacts elsewhere if you don't already have them. xx

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TEXT TO KNEEL 👻

addy: i don't know why the ghostie is c u te

addy: i am offended! i am afraid of NOTHING i just extremely extremely dislike it.

neil: i am not cute

neil: it's okay to be scared. i'm terrified all the time.

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TEXT TO KNEEL 👻

addy: too late that's what your contact name is. with a cute little ghost emoji sticking out its tongue.

addy: as long as it doesn't start to thunder and lightening anymore i should be fine!!

neil: you can hear or see it but i am sighing.

neil: i didn't know you were afraid.

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TEXT TO KNEEL 👻

addy: should have stayed inside during the storm! i told you to get inside inside inside. i even offered my flat to you. instead you stayed out in the cold, rain and wind. bad kneel.

addy: i am right now, i was a bit shaky before like my joints were going to disconnect bc of the thunder & lightening.

neil: don't call me kneel

neil: mm. i know the feeling. you're okay now?

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grccr.

greer’s hands were cold and it was starting to get dark outside, but he was the only one left at page turners books, and he just wanted to go home. the books he was rearranging tonight were dusty and beaten. the door was propped open, so he didn’t hear the chime of the bell when someone walked in. he only realized he wasn’t alone when someone popped up behind him and said “hello!” he jumped and his cheeks heated up cherry red, and as he turned around a soft smile. “hi, sorry, i didn’t hear you come in. is there something i can help you with?”

his gaze flickered to the time more than once on his way to page turner’s; he knew it was near closing and (from having to deal with last minute deliveries himself) that slipping in right before they locked up for the night was annoying. it was the first day since the storm ended that he hadn’t felt congested and shiver-chilled though and he wanted to make the most of it in case his cold relapsed him over the weekend. neil winced at the realization that he had startled the other man. “my bad,” he muttered, eyes quickly averting themselves. “uhm — yeah, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” his southern, american accent is thick; exhaustion preventing him from clipping his drawling vowels the way he usually would. “i’m looking for the secret language of flowers by samantha gray.” it is not the first time he’s purchased this particular book but the third.

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it’s acoustic and slowed down and all around a really cool take on it (x)

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TEXT TO KNEEL 👻

addy: oya oya

addy: well that's good. i'd be more sad if you had died in the storm than i would have been happy if i got your bike.

addy: are you in one piece? two pieces? are you broken?

neil: oya oya oya

neil: how sentimental of you

neil: i am in one piece. might have a chest cold though.

neil: i trust you are okay?

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TEXT TO KNEEL 👻

addy: HEY HEY HEY!!!

addy: are you alive? did you make it out of the storm? i haven't heard from you? should i assume your bike is mine?

neil: oya?

neil: not dead yet.

neil: sorry, no bike for you.

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today (friday) i am having a lil birthday shindig sorta at open mic, and then tomorrow (saturday) is my the anniversary of when i was born so i will be likely laying on the floor having an existential crisis all day and thus not be on to do replies but i will be back again on sunday to do them!!

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paintpoppys.

      for the most part oliver doesn’t make it a habit to spend a whole lot of time outside, especially if there’s a storm coming. but he’s trying to make his way back from boots with a few things that he needed that he couldn’t get elsewhere. just trying to make sure that he’s able to stay stocked up on everything that he might need just in case he does end up losing power sometime during the weekend. this trip has managed to make him more on edge than before. 

        it wasn’t enough that the market was packed  — it looked like a tornado had swept through it. he actually had to fight some one for the last box of advil. the situation had done nothing to curb the anxiety that had managed to manifest itself at the market, in fact it’d only made it worse. 

        which is why he’d decided to take the long way home, praying that the rain would at least hold off until he’d managed to get safely inside his flat. hazel eyes glance out toward the beach as he zips up the zipper of his rain jacket higher to attempt to kept out the wind. oliver isn’t exactly sure, but he thinks the wind has picked up since he’d been inside the drug store. 

         at this point in the storm forecast he is not expecting to see anybody outside, especially heading toward the beach instead of heading home.  with a tilt of his head, he calls out to them, probably stating the obvious. “hey! you know it’s supposed to rain right? a lot” 

           the boardwalk ends and sand shifts beneath his feet — not exactly ideal for running under the best conditions. it makes him hesitate, half moving in place like his body is stuck between jogging and a child pulling it’s feet out of the mud. normally he would just run near the tide where the beach is packed down, a bit more solid but even he doesn’t want to stray too close to the waterline right now. neil’s an idiot, sure. reckless, definitely. seeking a thrill for the sake of overcoming his fears, absolutely. he is not, however, suicidal.

            blue eyes, nearly grey in the dull light, glance toward the crash of waves. he thinks idly of water houses but swiftly pushes the thought away. it’s not the season for them. not that it would matter with weather like this. wrong sea, he tells him. myth. his something more is far less mystical and much more land oriented.

            fucking oliver of all people drags his attention back to brighton’s skyline, the pastel buildings in direct view lackluster in the storm-light. neil almost sprints directly for the ocean just to get away from his co-worker; to drown out the sound of his obvious warning. the skies have already told him. as has the mailman, addy, and every local weather station for the last week (not that he actually owns a tv). 

             neil can’t even help himself, the anger burns too bright under his skin, hot hot hot to make up for the last few months of mild manner; he practically yells back, “i never would have fucking guessed, oliver! looks like a damn dream out here! thought i might go for a fucking swim!”

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Darwin Gray by Caoimhe Hahn.

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